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MRS. ROBERTS: Oh, somebody we’ve been stirring up the whole blessed night. First I took him for baby, and then Edward took him for me, and then I took him for baby again, and then we both took him for you.

CAMPBELL: Did he look like any of us?

MRS. ROBERTS: Like us? He’s eight feet tall, if he’s an inch, in his stockings–and he’s always in them–and he has a long black beard and mustaches, and he’s very lanky, and stoops over a good deal; but he’s just as lovely as he can be and live, and he’s been as kind and patient as twenty Jobs.

CAMPBELL: Speaks in a sort of soft, slow grind?

MRS. ROBERTS: Yes.

CAMPBELL: Gentle and deferential to ladies?

MRS. ROBERTS: As pie.

CAMPBELL: It’s Tom Goodall. I’ll have him out of there in half a second. I want you to take him home with you, Agnes. He’s the best fellow in the world. Which is his berth?

MRS. ROBERTS: Don’t ask me, Willis. But if you’d go for baby, you’ll be sure to find him.

MR. ROBERTS
(timidly indicating a berth). I think that’s the one.

CAMPBELL
(plunging at it, and pulling the curtains open). You old Tom Goodall!

THE CALIFORNIAN
(appearing). I ain’t any Tom Goodall. My name’s Abram Sawyer.

CAMPBELL
(falling back). Well, sir, you’re right. I’m awfully sorry to disturb you; but, from my sister’s description here, I felt certain you must be my old friend Tom Goodall.

THE CALIFORNIAN: I ain’t surprised at it. I’m only surprised I ain’t Tom Goodall. I’ve been a baby twice, and I’ve been a man’s wife once, and once I’ve been a long-lost brother.

CAMPBELL
(laughing). Oh, they’ve found him. I’m the long-lost brother.

THE CALIFORNIAN
(sleepily). Has she found the other one?

CAMPBELL: Yes; all right, I believe.

THE CALIFORNIAN: Has he found what he wanted?

CAMPBELL: Yes; we’re all together here. [THE CALIFORNIAN makes a movement to get into bed again.] Oh, don’t! You’d better make a night of it now. It’s almost morning anyway. We want you to go home with us, and Mrs. Roberts will give you a bed at her house, and let you sleep a week.

THE CALIFORNIAN: Well, I reckon you’re right, stranger. I seem to be in the hands of Providence tonight anyhow. [He pulls on his boots and coat, and takes his seat beside CAMPBELL.] I reckon there ain’t any use in fighting against Providence.

MRS. ROBERTS
(briskly, as if she had often tried it and failed). Oh, not the least in the world. I’m sure it was all intended; and if you had turned out to be Willis at last, I should be certain of it. What surprises me is that you shouldn’t turn out to be anybody, after all.

THE CALIFORNIAN: Yes, it is kind of curious. But I couldn’t help it. I did my best.

MRS. ROBERTS: Oh, don’t speak of it. We are the ones who ought to apologize. But if you only had been somebody, it would have been such a good joke! We could always have had such a laugh over it, don’t you see?

THE CALIFORNIAN: Yes, ma’am, it would have been funny. But I hope you’ve enjoyed it as it is.